


Diffusion

by apparitionism



Series: Dynamics [8]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apparitionism/pseuds/apparitionism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of Ballet AU brought over from Tumblr, where Anonymous asked: What if Helena was allergic to Pas De? Here’s the short—and slightly sweet—answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diffusion

The day after Christmas, Helena wakes up, sneezing, very early in the morning. Myka knows this because she herself is awakened by that sneezing. Then Helena wakes Myka up further by blowing her nose violently.

“I’m sorry you caught a cold, but don’t give it to me,” Myka warns her.

Helena turns to her with baleful eyes—on a normal day, that glare would be threatening, but today is it just red and watery. She sits up and looks around the bed. She reaches out a hand and extracts, from between folds of the comforter, a small, gray, furry body. “I do dot hab a code,” she pronounces. “I ab fairly sure I ab allergig to this kitted.”

Myka tries as hard as she can, as hard as she possibly can, but it is like trying to hold back a sneeze of her own: she laughs and laughs and laughs until her eyes are as teary as Helena’s.

Helena looks at her severely until she subsides into chuckles. “Are you fidizhed dow?” she asks.

Which of course sets Myka off again, and Junior chooses this moment to put in an appearance, clearly drawn by Myka’s laughter: “What is so funny, Mom?”

Myka congratulates herself on regaining her composure as she manages to say, “Your mama might be allergic to Pas De. How’d he end up on our bed, anyway?”

“In the middle of the night he had a bad dream, so I brought him in to sleep with you.”

“Impressive that we didn’t hear you,” Myka says.

“I did it demi pointe.”

Helena, whose breathing, Myka notes, has become still more labored, holds the cat out to Junior. “Do sobthig else debi poidte. Take this thig far away frob be.”

Junior says, “Mama, if you’re allergic…” She gasps, clutches the kitten to her chest, and runs from the room.

“Oh, great,” Myka says. “Our child probably thinks you’re going to kill her Christmas present.”

Helena blows her nose again, a huge honk.

“Plus I’m married to a Canada goose.”

“I ab dever speakig to you agaid,” Helena says, with another runny, nonmenacing glare. “Buch less rebaidig barried to you.”

Myka laughs, then goes to find Junior. She ends up having to explain that cats don’t really enjoy being wedged behind a frying pan in the kitchen cabinet, even if it’s to save them from being deported from the Bering-Wells household. “Although it’s true,” Myka says, “that your mama would never find him there. Does she even know we own a frying pan?”

“I heard thad!” Helena exclaims thickly from the next room. “Shud ub!”

“You don’t even know what a frying pan’s _for_ ,” Myka calls to her, and hears in response a mutter that sounds suspiciously like “fryig sball gray kitteds, if I hab ady say id the batter.”

Junior is still wide-eyed with panic. “But Mom, but Mom! My friend Esme in ballet class is allergic to peanuts and eggs and she can’t even be in the same place that a peanut is in or an egg, so what if Mama can’t even be in the same place that Pas De is?” She is holding the cat so tightly that Myka suspects he might be experiencing breathing problems similar to Helena’s.

“It’s going to be fine,” Myka assures her. “As long as you don’t strangle him. Your mama will probably just have to get some shots, that’s all, and in the meantime, we’ll vacuum a lot. But I think you’re going to need to keep him with you if he has any more bad dreams, okay?”

Junior nods enthusiastically, and Myka hears, from behind her now, a grim “That kitted does dot doe what a bad dreab is. I will _edsure_ that that kitted has bad dreabs—”

“Hand me the cat and put the frying pan away, Junior,” Myka says quickly. “Just to be on the safe side.”

Much later, Myka, Junior, and Pas De would all come to understand that there was really no such thing as a “safe side” in any situation involving Helena and frequent obligatory encounters with needles…

END


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